


Always Waiting

by lonesomelikeasong



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, My First Fanfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-17
Updated: 2014-06-17
Packaged: 2018-02-05 02:25:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1801966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lonesomelikeasong/pseuds/lonesomelikeasong
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The righteous man could never find his words.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Always Waiting

The righteous man never knew what to say, not when it came to the angel. Sometimes the simple faith he saw in him every day even drove him to anger, it left him so at a loss. The angel always believed in him. It was a complete mystery. He drank himself to a ruinous state, most nights, just to give the other something to hate, just to give him something to stop believing in. The next morning, when he woke up stinking like whiskey and sweat, itching inside for a change of view, the angel was still there as soon as he opened his eyes, just to push him further. He was always there with his head tilted in confusion or listening to yet another rant about his lack of reason. A violent river ran inside the righteous man. He had been killing things for so long that he did not understand how life could want to give him anything. Yet, here the gift was in a trench coat and a savior complex, a sick karma.

One night the righteous man came back a little later than usual, a little more drunk than usual. It was a bad fight that day, a bad loss. The job was done but it wasn't worth the pain behind the story. The alcohol was already wearing off, too much to dull the blood anymore. He was shaking so hard that he could hardly get his keys out of his pockets. His eyes, his body were swimming in the blood, the running, the one thousand apologies to the dying. He was barely able to stand it anymore, the job he did. The fight was too long.

He sat on the ground in front of the motel door, begging on high for something good. He pleaded that someone would help him take this heavy soul and make it light. The irony of heaven on earth was inside his motel room waiting for his return. The angel, as usual, would be there with impatience and the eternal forgiveness. The angel would always wait for him.

The angel always waited for him.

The righteous man sat up, attentive, shot through with clarity. He took his keys from the ground and knocked on the door, hoping for an answer. Just as the man knew it would be, the door was opened by the angel, familiar face creased.

The angel's face was always twisted, the righteous man thought. It always was made a labyrinth by confusion or concentration, or, as the man realized now, worry. The angel was concerned for him like people never were. He was impenetrable, to be feared and respected. No one waited up at night for the righteous man. No one except, the man had realized moments before, the angel.

_Do you require assistance? I must admit, I have never been good at this._

Once again, the righteous man was speechless. The angel was every part and pinion the person the man had needed. He has so long been caught up in being bothered by his irksome hovering and trying not to trust a single soul. What he had never realized was that the angel had given him life. The righteous man had a reason to come home at night, someone to come home to if only before to argue with. Now...

_Are you hurt? You must be careful. I cannot guard you everywhere. Please just say something._

Of course, now, there was nothing for the righteous man to say. His breath came in shallow and quick as he ran his eyes over the face of the angel, seeing all the things he had been missing there. Those eyes were the thing he could not understand. The blue there must have been created for torture, the man thought, laughing a little. Those eyes were looking at him now. They were the calm thing that filled his view, his soul, everything in him until he had to act or die there in the parking lot. _  
_

Grabbing the other's arm, he pulled the angel to him now, knowing there was no going back from this. He took one last look in those eyes, now startled and filled with something unnameable. He brushed his hands across the angel's jaw, stubble scraping his palms lightly. The angel had always left him speechless, and now at last he had a better expression than words. He kissed him then, slow and soft, like a dream that he would never wake from.

He pulled back and stepped away quickly, in case what he had felt was wrong. He was, after all, a killer and not a creator. He would not be surprised if the angel left him standing there, just another in a long line of loss. Hand over his mouth, he looked down to his feet and waited for a dismissal, a rejection.

After one long, airless moment, he felt the warmth of a body so near him, and he looked up to see eyes searching him like memorization. Quickly, the angel's mouth was back on his, strong this time and steady. The man held the other to him, feeling him move to be every molecule closer. They stayed there locked together for every star the Creator had painted into heaven to see. There were no words needed now, not from the righteous man. He did not need to pray for words, for help, for escape, for a friend. He had those things and more in the form of a blue-eyed angel, holding him under the darkness.

 


End file.
